


nothing if not yours

by bs13



Category: Rosewood (TV)
Genre: F/F, PLUS pippy is so gay and i love it, and for me to get my AU fix, ill probably sneak in rosilla whenever i get the chance, this is mainly just a way to practice characterization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-08-31 16:27:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8585635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bs13/pseuds/bs13
Summary: a collection of oneshots about the different ways in different universes that Pippy and TMI meet, fall in love, or miss each other entirely.





	1. celebrity!AU

**Author's Note:**

> so because i like pain i wrote this i'm sorry
> 
> prompt (that i made up): AU. tmi is a celebrity struggling with her sexuality. pippy is a loving sister who is too friendly to random strangers. it's all missed chances and wrong timing, really.

Pippy Rosewood is turning the page of her magazine when she sees them.

Oddly long, stiff, and probably polyester, they look like they either belong in a tacky JC Penny store or a fashion designer's folder titled _april fool's joke_. Bright orange shorts, with the strangest green flowers—or blobs, it could be either one—adorning them, they may as well be flashing "Halloween-esque" couture (or trash can couture, in Pippy's opinion). Add that to the fact that they're paired with honest-to-God white ( _unironically_ white) sneakers, and Pippy may just keel over in horror.

"Rosie," Pippy says slowly, watching as those shorts bob out of her vision and into the kitchen, "did you lose a dare?"

"What do you mean?" Beaumont Rosewood's voice carries from the kitchen, as does the sound of the fridge opening and closing.

"I _mean_ ," Pippy stresses, setting aside the magazine and dropping her feet off the couch, "that you look like you're ready for Halloween in the middle of July. What are those shorts? They're hideous."

"Do your friends know how mean you are? Because you sure aren't winning sister of the year." Rosie comes back into the living room, expertly tossing an apple from hand to hand with his stupid, insufferable white smile. "I happen to like these shorts."

Pippy kicks at him as he takes a seat right beside her. "Look, I get it, you're experimenting with your style," Pippy says with a dramatic sigh. "But even if I secretly find denim on denim kind of cute, you wouldn't catch me dead wearing it! Do you get what I'm saying?"

"Not really, no." Rosie grins as he drops down on the couch beside her, tossing the apple from one hand to the other with practiced ease. "So are you saying that I shouldn't wear the shorts just because you don't like them?"

"I'm saying you shouldn't wear those shorts because it's going to be the biggest fashion disaster since crocs," Pippy corrects him. "And yes, because I hate them."

Rosie laughs. "And what if I just genuinely want to go out with these shorts on?"

"Then I hope you enjoy your future life as a spinster with five cats," Pippy replies, sympathetically patting his bulging bicep. "'Cause ain't no girl gonna find you cute."

Rosie takes a big bite of his apple, but grins anyway. "Fine, fine, the beauty guru's spoken," he says. "If I change, will you come for a run with me down at the beach?"

" _When_ you change, I'll join you at the beach. I won't go for a run, though. You know how I feel about unnecessary running." Pippy picks up her magazine again. "And please change those shoes. Your shorts are bad enough."

Rosie looks down at his feet. "What? The girl at the store liked them."

"And I'm sorry you wasted your money because a girl batted her eyelashes at you. _Idiot_."

By the time Rosie changes—into neutral black shorts and dark purple sneakers, the compromise—it's nearing sunset, so of course Pippy makes him buy her tacos from the taco truck before they even set foot on the beach. She sucks lime juice off her fingers as they walk through the sand, idly letting her eyes wander; the beach always looks really peaceful as the sun sets, the sky all soft and pink and orange, framing the churning white waves like a picture.

"Sure you don't want to join me? This breeze feels great. Could do wonders for your mood," Rosie says as Pippy sets out a blanket to sit on, painstakingly arranging it so the cooler Rosewood brought anchors it down.

"Sure I don't want to suffer? Yup." Pippy pops the last bite of her fish taco in her mouth and adds, "If I ever do want to exert myself to death, though, I'll let you know."

Rosie just smiles that wide, dopey, older-brother-approved grin that somehow makes girls fall to his feet. "I'll take that as a maybe!" he calls over his shoulder as he jogs off. Pippy can already see girls turning to stare as her shirtless brother runs past, which of course he's probably encouraging with his stupid smile. _Ugh_ , she thinks, _the heterosexuals_.

She settles down on the blanket and takes out a spare water bottle from the cooler. She may not be running, but even with the sun setting it's hot as sin outside and she's not looking to suffer. She takes a quick picture of the sunset for Instagram, too, but whatever—she's sure Rosie will leave some vague comment on it later about how lazy she is. Probably using too many heart emojis, too, like the sap _he_ is.

But then, "Excuse me?" breaks Pippy out of her chill headspace, and she looks up from her phone, squinting against the setting sun at whoever has come to stand by Pippy's blanket.

"Hi, sorry to bother you," continues the person—a blonde woman, young and pretty, probably around Pippy's age—rather nervously. Pippy is so struck by the stranger's green eyes that she almost doesn't hear what comes next: "I...I sort of need help?"

Pippy blinks back to reality. "What?"

"I—" the blonde's mouth opens and shuts, and by now her cheeks are so flushed her whole face looks pink. "Sorry. It's just, me being here alone is kind of...well, it stands out? And I was wondering if I could just sit here. With you."

"Go ahead," Pippy says, waving her hand over the blanket. This definitely marks the strangest request anyone's asked of her for (even considering the time a fity-year-old man had asked Pippy to serenade him with a Justin Bieber song).

"Thank you." The blonde smiles in obvious relief. "Oh! Where are my manners. I'm Tara."

"Pippy." Pippy holds out her hand, and they shake briefly, but Pippy gets too lost in green eyes again and she shakes her head, mostly to herself. "Sorry, but did you or did you not mention needing help—?"

Tara's eyes widen. "That! Yes, um, that was...poorly worded?" she winces. "I just needed to sit by someone. Everyone else around here is sort of...coupled off? I kind of feel awkward approaching people kissing."

"Who doesn't?" Pippy laughs. "But you're fine, right? Not in trouble? Because if you need to disappear, I'm pretty sure I have some connections."

Tara seems to get what Pippy is hinting at, because her cheeks flush again. "Oh no, it's not like that!" she says quickly. "I'm not trying to, like, escape a psychopathic boyfriend—or girlfriend—" she hesitates after the last word, then rushes to add, "Please forget I said that. Oh God. I'm not...you know, trying to hint that I..."

"Chose to sit next to the hottest girl on the beach to woo her?" Pippy teases, and revels in the way Tara ducks her head to blush. "It's okay. I'm flattered."

"Not that you aren't, um, gorgeous," Tara starts awkwardly, "I'm just—not gay. Totally straight, that's me..." she trails off, as if she's trying to explain that to herself and not Pippy.

Pippy nods, slowly. "Okay." She looks carefully at the girl before her, though. Just really _looks_. And she sees someone struggling...someone without a clear direction, and that Pippy can relate to. So she changes the subject. "So you needed to not sit by yourself?"

"It's dumb," Tara sighs. "If it's okay with you, I'd rather not talk about it?"

"Right, yeah, of course." Pippy takes a swig of her water, then reaches into the cooler. "Do you want something to drink? I have water and gross green smoothies, which I personally would rather throw in the ocean, but my brother seems to love the taste of regret."

"Water sounds fine," Tara says, smiling for the first time, and Pippy's struck all at once at how pretty she is. Which is _not_ good, because straight girl crushes are a no-no. "I'm not interrupting you or anything, though? Because I can go if it's too much trouble."

"Nah, chill," Pippy chuckles as she fetches the cold water bottle, pressing it into Tara's hand if just to touch the other girl briefly. "Before you got here, I was going to just scroll through Instagram and look at the other lame people posting about the sunset too."

"Sounds exciting." Tara's smile only seems to grow, and she relaxes onto the blanket. "What else do you do for fun?"

"Are we doing the hobbies talk? Sure this isn't a date?" Pippy jokes, if only to see Tara blush again.

"I'm sorry," Tara says, her cheeks flushing as if on cue. "But right now, I sort of want to forget everything. About...me. Is that okay?"

"Well," Pippy replies, "in that case, I love to sing in my free time. Or just, well, anytime. Sixteen year old me had some moves, too." When there is no immediate reply, she turns and looks out at the waves. "I mean, I know what you think—that's gonna get me nowhere. But a girl can dream, right?"

"No, I get it." Tara bites her lip, eyes downcast. "I sing, too. But not, you know, professionally or anything. My mother kind of hates me for that."

"That you can't sing professionally?" Pippy repeats, tearing her eyes away to look back at Tara. "That's a weird thing to hate you for."

"I mean I'm an okay singer," Tara corrects herself. "I'm nothing great. Nothing that my mother can capitalize, anyway."

"Ahh," Pippy says understandingly. "Does your mother get all up in your life? 'Cause I can relate."

"You can?"

"Mm-hmm. My mom's a lover, but she meddles too much," Pippy says. "I mean, she makes a _lot_ of phone calls. And drops in for unexpected visits. Usually at the worst times."

Tara takes a sip of water and shrugs. "That doesn't sound bad."

"Maybe." Pippy takes in Tara again. "I bet I can guess all about your mother. She probably raised you like one of those pageant girls, huh? You had to be girly and pretty and perfect, just for her. Had to do everything she said or else."

Tara smiles again, but it doesn't quite meet her eyes. "Something like that," she says softly.

For a moment, all is quiet. At first it's a nice, peaceful silence, but out of nowhere Tara suddenly tenses up so noticeably that Pippy sees it out of the corner of her eye. She briefly wonders if she pushed too far (and is just about to open her mouth to apologize) when a bright flash makes her lose her train of thought. Then another flash comes, and another, and another, and Pippy shields her eyes with her hand and looks to Tara in confusion.

Tara's gone white as a sheet, and she won't look at Pippy, instead looking blankly in horror at the wave of cameras facing them. It's only after an obnoxious white guy tries to shove his camera in Tara's face that Tara seems to realize her name is being called from ten different angles, and she quickly blinks away her surprise to take on an aura of cool nonchalance.

"Didn't you have to go to the police station's gala tonight, Tara?" a woman right behind the paparazzi starts to talk a mile a minute, a microphone in hand, as if appearing out of nowhere. "Care to comment on why you didn't show up?"

But Tara is already getting up off the floor, face tight as she refuses to say a word. Pippy watches, mouth open, as Tara strides off and the paparazzi start tripping over themselves to follow. Just before Tara leaves for good, though, she looks right back at Pippy and their eyes meet. Pippy is feeling hella confused (and she knows she looks it), but her confusion just hits her full force when Tara smiles sadly—the only break in her poker face—and walks away.

Pippy never sees Tara again.

Three months later, as Pippy is coming back from work and dreaming of the leftover Chinese food in the fridge, she sees her. There she is, Tara Milly Izikoff, right on the TV screen as Rosie watches E! News. He's probably only half-watching, definitely just using the channel as background noise as he texts the newest lady in his life about whatever mushy date he's gone on lately, completely unaware of the wistful look that Pippy dons when she hears Tara's voice again.

And it's just a soundbite, the clip of Tara, just a quick glimpse of her face as Tara announces that she's queer to the whole world as the news anchor gasps and fakes astonishment to the viewers; it's really not much. But Pippy smiles, fond and small, and sits down to watch anyway.


	2. daycare!AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is much happier, because i'm so happy my girls are sort-of back together (though i really really wanted the show to show how they're slowly repatching their relationship, but i guess this is better than them seeing other people bc that hurt me)
> 
> prompt (from me, again, bc im a loser): daycare AU where everyone but TMI, Pippy, and Donna Rosewood are kids. ft. general doctor Pippy, caretaker-ish TMI, and Annalise and Rosie as the cutest dynamic of troubemakers ever!

If you were to ask where Tara Milly Izikoff pictured herself in the future three years ago, she might have said still in medical school, preparing to start interning at the nearby hospital. But this Tara—and subsequently, the only Tara—is squatting on the sticky carpet, staring down a scowling four-year-old girl with a melted glue stick's contents smeared over her hands.

"Annalise," Tara says, with just a little strain to her voice, "we do _not_ eat glue."

Annalise only scowls harder, her face scrunched and red and angrier than usual (which is saying something; she's always been a rather angry child). Annalise pointedly licks her palm, dark eyes fixed on Tara as if daring her to intervene.

Tara tries to squash the feeling of overwhelming disappointment as she grips Annalise's wrist. "Come on," she says. "We're going to wash your hands. And then you're having a time-out."

Annalise yanks her hand away. "No!" she yells, and she sticks two of her fingers in her mouth.

Tara thanks her lucky stars that the glue is non-toxic, at least, because by the time she manages to wrangle Annalise in the direction of the daycare bathroom the little girl has already licked three of her fingers clean. Tara methodically washes Annalise's hands, despite the girl's protests, and then shuffles her out and into the time-out corner in a practiced routine that occurs way more often than it should.

The sound of the front doors opening isn't anything out of the ordinary, but it IS a surprise, and the other kids look up from their arts and crafts session curiously at the prospect of someone other than Tara walking in.

"Oh my, don't tell me Annalise is in trouble _again_ ," says a familiar voice, and Tara nearly cries when she hears Donna Rosewood comes in.

As the only other person who helps run this daycare—and the only investor—Donna drifts in and out whenever she can, mostly on Thursdays and Fridays when her husband is watching her young son. Today Donna is smiling understandingly by the main doors, motherly gaze lingering on Annalise.

"Mrs—I mean, um, Donna," Tara says, blinking confusedly at the older woman. "It was just a little mishap. Um, with the glue."

"I see." Donna peers at the work of the other kids, taking in marker-stained fingers and spilled glitter, before saying, "I'll get started on cleanup, if that's alright."

"No, yeah, that would be...great." Tara waits as Donna starts rallying the rest of the kids to hand over their art supplies before she hesitates to add, "N-not to seem ungrateful or anything, but you never come in on Mondays."

Donna patiently waits until Adrian, a little boy who loves crayons an unhealthy amount, relinquishes the few broken ends in his fists before she even replies. "Oh, my daughter is back in town," she says absentmindedly. "She offered to take care of Beaumont this morning."

"Your daughter...the doctor," Tara says, recalling the tales of the mysterious college graduate that seems to be traveling worldwide whenever Donna brings her up. "I thought you said she was in the U.K."

"Well, she's back." Donna doesn't seem too interested in speaking of her daughter, which is very unlike her; if there is anything to be said of Donna Rosewood, it's that she never misses a chance to talk about her kids. "She and Beaumont haven't seen each other in quite some time."

Tara steps away from the time out corner that Annalise has begrudgingly turned to face, brow furrowing at how off Donna's tone is. "Uh-oh," she says. "Is something wrong?"

"No, of course not." Donna starts piling up the art supplies into the designated boxes, only pausing to speak to the kids. "Alright children, you know it's about to be nap time. Go and get your blankets."

As the little feet patter away obediently—not without some arguments from Ira, the boy who could rival Annalise's anger—Donna steps closer to Tara, something like worry etched across her face.

"I've been thinking, Tara," Donna says, sounding conflicted as she stops and then starts again. "I've been thinking that perhaps I should bring Beaumont by here instead."

Beaumont Rosewood is a four-year-old Tara knows quite fondly. Donna brings him by sometimes, and even though he's frail and very small for his age, he's always got a smile on his face and loves to play with the other kids. But he also has a heart condition that makes Donna uneasy, and she and her divorced husband tend to like to watch after Beaumont themselves; Tara's watched Beaumont a few times when it's just been the two of them, but Donna worries often that too many kids will be too much for Beaumont and has always declined to just bring him in.

"Oh," says Tara, both surprised and somewhat flattered that Donna would trust her enough. "If you really want to, that'd be great! I love Beaumont."

Donna smiles, but it's a weak effort. "I worry for him," she explains, gripping the purse over her shoulder like a lifeline. "And Pippy says she's back for good and can help out, but...I'd like to prepare him for kindergarten, and he can't do that if he's by himself all the time. And he gets along well enough with the other kids, so...I guess it's about time."

"Whatever you decide," Tara says, as sincere as she can be with her hair a bit frazzled and her hands sticky with spit and glue, "there is always a place for him here. I mean, obviously."

"Thank you." Donna's next smile is one of relief, something softened with affection. "I'll have to have Pippy drop him off tomorrow...which means you can finally meet her." _There's_ the Donna Rosewood Tara knows, already brimming with pride as she talks about her daughter. "You'll love her—she is great with kids. Just like you."

For a moment, Tara feels her heart full, because honestly there is no one other than Donna Rosewood that could say that and make it so meaningful. Tara's own parents have never been as supportive as Donna is; they keep telling her to go back to school, to get a new degree, to move out of her shitty apartment and take the bribe money they offer. But Donna can just walk in and say that Tara is good with kids and Tara will feel like the most accomplished woman in the world.

But the moment is shattered the second Mitchie, the redhead little boy who wears nothing but Spiderman pajamas, tugs on Tara's pants.

"Mitchie? Come on sweetie, it's nap time," Tara says, nudging the boy in the direction of the other kids, who are all laying out their blankets over their nap mats (and inevitably arguing, so Donna goes to break up the fight between Ira and Tawyna over who gets the blue mat).

Mitchie stares up at Tara, eyes wide and wet as he chokes out, "I p-peed my pants."

Tara's body sags with exhaustion, and it's barely midday. "Mitchie, we talked about this, remember?" she says, as gently as she can to avoid the overflow of his tears. "You have to let me know if you need to go to the restroom."

"I know." Mitchie sniffles, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "But I had to _go_."

Tara wraps an arm around his shoulders. "It's okay," she promises. "Let's go get you cleaned up for nap time."

Mitchie nods jerkily and wipes at his nose again, this time his sleeves coming back with snot. Tara winces; yeah she's okay with kids, but their bodily functions have always made the clean freak part of her squeamish. As she starts to usher Mitchie to the bathroom, she hears Annalise yell,

"No _naps_!"

Donna picks up Annalise's blanket off the floor as Annalise takes off running, only looking vaguely amused at Annalise's latest tantrum. Tara, for her part, just sighs and pushes Mitchie into the bathroom. This looks like it's going to be a _long_ day.

.

.

.

There's a song playing on the radio, something melancholy and yearning that Tara hums as she scrubs at the craft table for the third time this morning. The kids were particularly destructive yesterday, it seems; every time Tara looks at the table she finds something new—glitter Neil must have spilled, Tawyna's initials scratched into the table, Annalise's misspelled name scrawled on the table leg in black marker.

Tara abandons the initials because there's nothing she can do about that, and instead sets to unfolding the nap mats. She sets them into place, and then methodically starts on the toys, which she unpacks and sets into their designated area. The place is starting to look a lot more lively when suddenly, a knock interrupts the quiet.

Tara frowns and checks the time. It's six-thirty. The daycare doesn't open until seven, and even the earliest—like Neil's mom, for example—tend to come by a little later than that. She ignores it for now, opting to turn off the radio first and put away the cleaning supplies, when she hears the tell-tale sound of a key in the lock.

"Hold on, Donna, I'll be right there," Tara calls without turning to face the front doors, bending over to shove the last of the supplies under the craft sink.

"TMI!"

Tara yelps and nearly falls over when a small child throws himself at her legs. Beaumont Rosewood—or Rosie, as he likes to be called—is beaming up at her with that wide, infectious smile of his as Tara reflexively grips his jacket.

"Rosie?" Tara says, surprised, head jerking sideways to look in Donna's direction. Except Donna _isn't_ there; instead, heels click on the floor and a young woman walks fully into view. Tara's never seen her in her life, but as soon as the woman gets close, Tara just _know_ she's about to meet Pippy Rosewood.

"Rosie!" scolds the young woman, hands on her hips. "What did I say about running?"

"Not to 'cause I can slip and fall," Rosie recites, and he squirms out of Tara's grip to grab his sister's hand. "Sorry, Pip."

Pippy squeezes his shoulder, as soft as everyone else is around Rosie, eyes warm as she says, "That's okay. Just take it easy, okay?" She looks over in Tara's direction, then, her brown eyes so dark Tara feels she could get lost in them. "Oh, you must be Tara."

"Her name's TMI," Rosie says. "Ann'lise said so."

Tara blinks. "Um," is what comes out of her mouth, lamely. "It's—those are my initials. The kids have to initial a lot of the work they do, so when I do the examples I put my initials down too and it's just a nickname that's sort of stuck..."

"But you are Tara," repeats Pippy, an unfair amount of amusement in her tone, "right?"

"...oh, yes! And you must be Pippy—Donna's daughter?"

"That's me," Pippy affirms. "Sorry to drop in so early. My mom said I could bring him by early since you're usually here? She said she texted you about it."

Tara's phone has been dead since last night, but she nods anyway. "Yep, she...did that," she says awkwardly, then clears her throat. "I-I hear you're a doctor."

"Oh God, don't tell me my mother talks about me all the time," Pippy laughs, faking a grimace. "I'm sorry she does that."

"No, it's—it's nice," Tara says, truthfully, because her own mother likes to pretend Tara doesn't exist sometimes. "She really loves you and your brother."

"I mean, I'd hope so." Pippy cracks a grin, and Tara really wishes she weren't so weak for cute girls because _oh Lord_ that smile is something else. "Listen, I hate to just dump my brother on you, but I have to go to work soon. Is it ok if I start bringing him by this early?"

"Yes, of course," Tara says without a second thought. Of course this could backfire spectacularly—because Tara doesn't usually come in that early, and Donna just assumes the best probably, and as nice as Rosie is he likes to meddle a lot. But any worries she might have disappear the minute Pippy's face lights up.

"Great! I'll be back for him later." She smacks a kiss to Rosie's head, smoothing her thumb over his cheek. "Be good, okay? And don't give Tara a hard time."

Rosie hugs her tightly as his form of goodbye—after promising to not give Tara a hard time, of course—and then Pippy is gone, heels clicking distantly as her perfume lingers by Tara's side.

It gets quiet when she's gone. Then Rosie looks at Tara and asks, "When does Ann-a-lise come?"

(Okay, Tara really did not think _this_ through.)

.

.

.

It is unfair how attractive Pippy Rosewood is.

Tara thinks that to herself at least once a day. As Donna seems to stop by less and less—seeing how she's gotten a job at a local high school—Pippy seems to come by more often. Tara normally would not complain if she weren't so, well, tragically over her head with a nagging (and quite insistent) voice in her head that routinely tells her that she has a small crush.

The kids, sans Rosie, are all gone by the time Pippy comes by. Tara is playing tic-tac-toe with Rosie, who doesn't seem very interested in the game at all (he keeps letting Tara win) when suddenly the door bangs open.

"Hey!" Pippy makes herself known as she shoulders her way inside the daycare, a pizza box in her hands as she all but rushes into the room. "Sorry I'm running late, but I thought I'd bring by some food. Is that okay?"

"Oh, that's—thank you," says Tara, voice sort of faint as Pippy comes into view. Pippy's clearly just got off from work, still dressed in her scrubs and with a tired look to her eyes, but her smile is so bright it's a wonder Tara doesn't faint on the spot.

"Pizza!" Rosie yells, jumping to his feet. "Does it have pineapple?"

"Half," Pippy says with a grimace as she sets the box down on the craft table. "You're lucky I love you, little bro."

"Not a fan of pineapple on pizza?" Tara asks, in awe at how endearing everything Pippy does is; Pippy scrunches her nose at the question so _adorably_ it's cruel.

"Pineapple and cheese is a nightmare," Pippy says dramatically as she opens the box, revealing the half-Hawaiian and half-pepperoni pizza in all its glory. "Something went wrong when my parents raised Rosie though, because he loves it."

Rosie grins as he grabs a big slice, shoving it into his mouth crust-first. "It's good!" he says, but his voice is so muffled it sounds like he's mumbling nonsense.

Pippy fake-gags. Tara laughs, and then picks up a slice of the Hawaiian pizza herself, which she picks the ham off of as Pippy stares at her in mock-horror.

"I can't believe I trusted you," Pippy says, pressing a hand to her chest. "You let me believe you were a good person, Tara. I can't even deal with this today."

"What? Pizza and pineapple are best friends. They work."

"Bulls—bull," Pippy amends as takes a bite of pepperoni pizza, eyes narrowing at Tara's laughter.

Rosie giggles along. "Pippy, come ooon," he teases, flicking a piece of pineapple in her direction. "It taste-es good."

"Hey, devil child, don't you even dare—" Pippy gasps loudly when Tara flicks a piece at her too. " _Both_ of you are evil, oh my God."

"We just make a good team. Right, Rosie?" Tara holds out her hand for a high-five, which Rosie obliges. Though his hands are sticky with tomato sauce, Tara's never felt so happy in her life, with Rosie nudging her leg under the too-small table and Pippy sitting next to her, dissolving into laughter at Tara's following grimace at the mess.

"You're lucky you're both cute," Pippy says, her smile so warm and eyes so fond that Tara's heart nearly stops.

(Un. Fair.)

.

.

.

"Ms. Izzychoff?"

Tara's last name is hard for four-year-olds to say. She knows that. The kids have taken to calling her TMI since the fateful work initial day, so it's a big surprise when Annalise says her name so formally (despite being off).

"Yes, Annalise?" Tara says carefully, mindful not to disrupt the rest of the kids seated on the carpet as she ushers Annalise away from the quiet-time circle.

Annalise looks very, very hesitant. "I—" she blinks, eyes suddenly heavy with tears, "I want my mommy."

"She'll be back soon," Tara promises, and she doesn't miss the way Annalise's face crumbles; in a second, there are tears streaming down the little girl's cheeks, and Tara hurriedly bends down to Annalise's level. "Annalise, what's wrong?"

Annalise shakes her head, unwilling—or unable—to elaborate further. Tara's heart breaks a little. She settles for hugging Annalise tightly, and the little girl sobs into her shoulder. She doesn't press, but little by little, Annalise breaks the story: her father left and hasn't come back, and her mom is always sad, and Annalise feels sad too and misses him very much.

Eventually, the tears stop flowing, and Annalise hiccups the last of her story and never relinquishes her grip on Tara's shirt. "I wanna go _home_ ," Annalise says, bottom lip quivering.

"Oh, honey," Tara says, brushing Annalise's hair out of her eyes. By now, the other kids are staring at them curiously, but luckily none of them seem nosey today.

(Well, Tawyna does ask rather loudly what's wrong with Annalise, but Rosie just huffs and says "she's _sad_ " so matter-of-factly that Tawyna steals his firetruck.)

"I don't know if your daddy is going to come back," Tara admits, and the heartbroken look Annalise dons immediately afterward should be proof enough Tara is definitely not caretaker of the year. "But even if he doesn't, Annalise, you have your mommy. And she loves you very, very much. There is no one in the world that matters to her more than you. Just like all of us love you, too. I know you feel sad. Sometimes our mommies and daddies are sad, too. But you're going to be okay. Everything's going to be okay."

Annalise sniffles. "Is my daddy sad? Is that why he lefted?"

"I don't know why he left, sweetie." Tara brushes drying tears off Annalise's cheeks and wishes, selfishly, that the world wasn't so cruel. "But you have a lot of people here that love you. And that's what matters."

Annalise rubs at her eyes, red-rimmed and watery, and says, "I wanna go t'sleep."

"Alright. Nap time it is." Tara offers Annalise a smile as she takes the little girl's hand, leading her to the other kids to get them to start picking up for an early nap time session.

At the end of the day, when Annalise's mom doesn't show up after closing, Tara sits on one of the chairs at the craft table and watches Rosie and Annalise play. They're the oddest set of friends she's ever seen; Annalise is bossy, and insistent on what they play, and Rosie is passive and quiet but smiles like Annalise is the sun. They make-believe their toy cars are people, and Annalise's car both crashes and proposes to Rosie's, and it's simultaneously the cutest and weirdest thing ever.

"You really love this job, don't you?"

Tara only then remembers that Pippy is there too, which is unheard of (normally Tara is extremely aware of Pippy's presence). But with the events of today, with Annalise's breakdown, Tara finds it easy to slip into her own thoughts.

"I do," she says after a moment. It's true. Of course it is. But, "Sometimes it's hard, though."

Pippy doesn't know about Annalise, but she seems to sense something is up. "You don't have to tell me," she says.

"Right, you're a doctor. Way harder than my job, I guess."

"I didn't say that." When Pippy looks at her, Tara is both lost and entranced; there's a soft admiration in Pippy's eyes, something so unsure it feels like the warmth of the room has increased. "We lose people every day, and that's the hardest thing I've ever faced. But you—you have to let so many people in your life, Tara. And then when they're hurting, you hurt too. I can't imagine what would happen if you lost them too."

Tara is quiet for a minute. "I can't imagine that either."

.

.

.

When Rosie asks Tara to come to his birthday party, she worries.

One, she's pretty sure it's not professional. And two, she's pretty sure if she spends more than an half an hour a day with Pippy she'll somehow ruin the inexplicable almost-friendship they have going on. But of course when he asks it's as he's shuffling out the door, and Pippy is there with her beautiful smile and she says "oh yeah, totally forgot to mention that, you should come," and Tara is really screwed.

She buys him a stuffed dinosaur on the way to his house (because he's really interested in bones and dinosaurs right now) and even texts Donna that she's on her way. Donna texts back a phone number—Pippy's, as stated, along with a heart emoji that someone decidedly _not_ Donna must have sent—and Tara nearly trips on the front step.

The door is flung open before Tara can even knock. "TMI!" Rosie screeches, and he and four other small children tackle her to the ground.

Someone laughs. It takes a moment for Tara to realize it's Pippy hovering above her, taking a picture of the unfortunate scene. Tara's face goes red as she awkwardly gets up, brushing off her jeans with moist palms.

"Hey, guys," Tara says, smiling despite herself. Annalise, Mitchie, Ira each get a ruffle of their hair, and Rosie gets a hug (after she hands him his present). "Happy birthday, Rosie."

"Thank you!" Rosie beams before the kids take off again, excitedly passing the gift bag between them to deliver it with the rest of the presents.

Pippy lowers the phone in her hand, which Tara recognizes as Donna's. "I'm glad you could come," Pippy says, her mouth quirked into a smirk. "Cute shirt."

Tara's wearing a T-shirt with the periodic table on it, but she flushes anyway. "Thanks, I—I wouldn't miss it," she says. "Is there any way I can, like, persuade you _not_ to keep that picture?"

"Nope." Pippy grins. "But don't worry, it's cute."

"Well, if it's _cute_." Tara fakes a grimace, and Pippy laughs and grabs Tara's hand.

"Come on, if we don't go look after those kids they'll keep trying to get to the cake," she says. "Oh! Wait, did you get my text?"

"You mean your mom's text?"

"Hey, I couldn't send you my number when I didn't even have yours," Pippy says, and she drops Tara's hand (sadly) in order to reach into her pocket for her own phone. "Here, swap me."

Tara hands over her phone. Pippy's the type to take a picture of herself for a profile picture, puckering her lips exaggeratedly for the camera. Tara halfheartedly does the same, though her half-laugh is not directed at the camera; she's really looking at Pippy's face, and how silly each new face Pippy makes is before Pippy settles for a picture she likes.

"You know," Tara says as she and Pippy finally make their way into the house, "this is sort of weird. I mean, I don't think I'm supposed to be so friendly with the family of one of my kids."

"Well, you're also your own boss," Pippy points out, eyes sparkling playfully as her shoulder brushes Tara's.

"Yeah, but I mean...ethical stuff. Moral stuff. I don't know."

"There's nothing wrong with loving the Rosewood family." Pippy throws her arms out in the middle of the living room, and what a sight it is; kids run around her, kicking superhero balloons and throwing streamers that fall around Pippy's ankles as she finishes, "We make it too easy."

(Tara can't think of a truer sentence spoken.)

.

.

.

**Pippy**  
[attachment] [attachment]  
which one?

**Tara**  
Pippy. It's 10 at night.

**Pippy**  
yes but which dress is cuter, red or black?

**Tara**  
Seriously I was asleep

**Pippy**  
lol sorry grumpy x  
i just got off work  
and i need your help

**Tara**  
the red one looks nice

**Pippy**  
red it is ;)  
wish me luck

**Tara**  
Good luck with whatever you're doing. [thumbs-up emoji]

**Pippy**  
im going on a date! first time in months  
kinda excited. is that weird?

**Tara**  
Whoa, that's huge! Where at?

**Pippy**  
idk some nightclub. she says its good

**Tara**  
Well have fun! And good luck, again.

**Pippy**  
thanks T! goodnight xo

**Tara**  
Goodnight :)

Tara stares unblinkingly at her phone for three minutes. _She_. Pippy said _she_. Donna had never said anything about Pippy's love life, and Pippy's only offhandedly mentioned an ex she doesn't talk to, but never anything so specific. Pippy likes girls. Just like Tara does.

Tara goes to sleep and tries not to freak out any more than she already has.

.

.

.

Annalise's mom is late again, but it's a common occurrence by now. Tara doesn't say anything to Daisie Villa, just quietly changes the hours on the door; instead of seven to five, it now reads seven to six. Annalise doesn't try to talk about her mom or her dad anymore, but she seems more like herself, complaining at the tone of Pippy's voice as she reads to her and Rosie.

"You don't do it right," Annalise insists, turning the page of the Dr. Seuss book herself before Pippy can. "Do the _voices_."

"Okay, why don't you show me?" Pippy suggests.

Annalise frowns. "You gotta do it by _yourself_ , like your shoe-laces."

"Right, how silly of me." Pippy begins again, her voice a little more high-pitched this time.

Tara laughs hard enough that her shoulders shake, thankfully quiet so Annalise doesn't pick up on it, but Rosie who is snuggled into Tara's side does and giggles a little bit himself.

Annalise's head drops on Pippy's shoulder, stubbornly eyeing the pages even though she can't read. This is how they spend most of the hour after everyone else is gone, just the four of them; there is an unspoken rule that as long as Annalise stays, so do Pippy and Rosie. Donna works late anyway, Pippy always says, but Tara knows they love Annalise as much as she does.

When the book is finished, Rosie and Annalise run off to the craft table with coloring books that Pippy presents them with. One, a Barbie one and the other superheroes; Annalise takes the superhero one without a word, and Rosie cheerfully takes the Barbie one.

"He's expanding his interests," Pippy explains to Tara as she stretches out on the carpet, propping her head up on her arm as she talks up to Tara. "And breaking the gender binary."

"Obviously." Tara smiles back, because of course this woman makes it really hard not to have a crush on her. "So...your date. Yesterday."

Pippy rolls her eyes. "Oh God, do not get me _started_."

"What? That bad?"

"The girl brought her boyfriend to the date, so yeah. I got out of there _so_ fast." Pippy snaps her fingers to prove a point, and Tara looks at her sympathetically enough that Pippy is sure to add, "It's okay, though. It really happens more often than it should on these dating sites."

"Wow. That...sucks," Tara says slowly. She's never dated a girl, ever, so she can't relate, but she can imagine how hard it must be. "Um, if it's any consolation, my ex-boyfriend once texted me a screenshot of our breakup to me by accident. It was meant for another girl, but. It was awkward."

Pippy snorts. "What an idiot," she says. "Let me guess, he left you for his side fling?"

"Yeah, real classy, right?" Tara chuckles. "It's okay. I never really liked him anyway."

"Mmm, with the way he acted, I can already tell he was a douchebag," Pippy hums disapprovingly. "He probably thought he was a real catch."

And, well, she's not wrong. "He really did," Tara says, shaking her head. "But I don't know, he was nice at first. I was more in it because my parents introduced us, and then I realized I really didn't want to date guys at all."

Pippy tilts her head, a question if she's ever seen one, and Tara flushes.

"I mean, I like guys just fine," she hurries to add. "Just...maybe not enough to date one again. I think I prefer...well. You know. Not that I've ever—ever dated a girl or anything, but. I assume. That sounds really weird, right? I've never—" she trails off, embarrassed, but Pippy's eyes hold no judgement.

"As a lesbian," Pippy replies, more careful than anything, "I have to say that you're completely right. And as a woman, I have to say again that you're completely right."

Tara expels a breath she's been holding at Pippy's following laugh, and she laughs a little bit herself, a warm feeling blooming in her chest that just won't go away.

.

.

.

The kids are eating lunch when Tara's phone buzzes.

Distracted, she opens it while taking a bite of her sandwich, and subsequently almost chokes. It's a text message from her mother, an invitation for her to come to their latest investor dinner. The last time Tara received an invite for one of these was when her parents set her up with her ex-boyfriend-who-must-not-be-named.

Tara doesn't reply, but she feels odd the rest of the day afterwards, like she's walking in a haze. It doesn't even bother her when she has to break up two fights between Tawyna and Annalise, or that Mitchie cries for three minutes about the fact that worms don't have legs, because she feels like she's in an odd unconscious reality and whatever unfolds around her seems small in comparison.

Her parents haven't called her in a while. Has she really not noticed? Before, she used to agonize over the fact, staring at her phone late and night and waiting. How long has she spent without doing that? It feels more and more like she's spent less time by herself since Rosie and his sister came into her life—and less time lonely.

Neil spills two containers of glitter on the carpet today, and all Tara does is pat his head and send him to play with the others before she bends down to clean it up. Donna would shake her head disapprovingly—or at least stare in that unnerving motherly way—to see how distracted Tara is today. Even the kids seem to notice; they don't ask her as many questions like they usually do (mostly things like "why isn't the sky purple" or "why don't cats talk like on TV") and instead opt to take advantage of the situation and talk quietly to each other during nap time even though they're not supposed to.

Even Pippy notices. She shows up after work looking exhausted as she carries in a box of donuts, but one look at Tara absentmindedly doodling on a coloring page while Rosie and Annalise squabble around her and Pippy gets instantly suspicious.

"You look lost in your head today," Pippy remarks after she distracts the kids with the sugary treats, snapping Tara back to attention.

"Do I? Sorry." Tara tears off a bit of a sugar donut and stuffs it into her mouth. "It's just family stuff."

Pippy nods, feigning nonchalance as she looks down at her own donut. "You don't really talk about your family," she says after a beat. "Like, ever."

"There's not much to talk about," Tara says with a shrug, feeling slightly exposed at Pippy's following questioning look. "They're just—well. They don't take change too well. And they really thought I'd be more like you, with the whole...doctor and success thing. Or dating someone they approve of, or living somewhere they want me to...it's complicated."

Pippy looks unfazed. Sympathetic, but unfazed. "What a load of bullshit," she says, and Tara does a double-take. "No, seriously. You're successful and the work you're doing is great. They should be more supportive." She pauses, then, and clamps a hand over her mouth. "Oh God. That sounds so judge-y. I don't want to be rude, I swear."

But Tara just laughs, weak as it sounds. "No, that's—I wish they saw it that way, too."

She looks at Pippy a while, quietly and without purpose, just to really _look_. She's never met someone like Pippy, someone who is impulsive and energetic but at the same time rational and controlled; someone who is blunt and opinionated but who is as human as anyone she critiques; someone who looks at people without judgement; someone who cares so fiercely; someone who loves the world despite seeing how awful it is on a daily basis.

Tara can't imagine a world where she wouldn't fall for Pippy Rosewood every damn time.

.

.

.

Donna stops by to pick up Rosie one day, and it changes everything.

"Tara, dear, how are you holding up?" Donna asks as other parents fuss around their children, bustling around to dress them in jackets and sweaters to brave the California winter that isn't really a drastic as they believe.

"Well, you know, good enough," Tara jokes. "I miss having you around, of course."

"I miss being here," Donna sighs, fondly rubbing Rosie's cheek. "High school students act out more than these kids do, I swear it. I promise I'll try and stop by more often, alright?"

Tara smiles, because she's never fought Donna Rosewood on anything before, and she won't start now. "That would be great. Take care, Donna!"

"You too, dear," Donna says as she leads Rosie—and Annalise, who has taken to leaving with the Rosewoods more often than not—out.

It gets quiet with all the kids truly gone, and Tara realizes she has an extra hour to herself tonight. It's not unwelcome, but it does make her already miss the visit from Pippy and the never-ending fights between Annalise and Rosie, both of which have become constants in her day. (The former much more welcomed, of course, but still.)

She's just picking up her purse to lock up and leave when Pippy comes rushing in, eyes wide in apology.

"T, I'm sorry I'm late, I—" Pippy stops halfway into the room. "My mom just came, didn't she?"

"Uh, yes?"

"I always forget when it's her day to drop Rosie off at my dad's, oh my God," Pippy groans. "I guess this means I'm locked out of the house until she gets back."

Tara smirks. "Did you lose your key again?"

"Yes, and don't laugh!" Pippy points her finger at Tara accusingly, but dissolves into tired laughter herself. "I just had the longest day, I'm sorry."

"Well, you can hang out here until she gets back," Tara offers, and she gestures to the kids' reading area where the beanbags and chairs are. "I'm not in a hurry."

So that's what they do. Pippy launches into a story about the most ridiculous things she's treated today—broken bones from the strangest things, even the weirdest sex stories—and Tara laughs and winces when appropriate, heart beating wildly every time Pippy locks eyes with her and smiles in between every word.

Somewhere during all of this, they end up leaning against each other, shoulder-to-shoulder in their respective beanbag chairs. Tara talks about the latest shenanigans Annalise has roped Rosie in today, and Pippy snickers.

"She's going to be a real force to reckon with someday," Pippy remarks.

"She's a force to reckon with now," Tara retorts, and she laughs when Pippy does, turning her head to add something about how Rosie's just too nice to do anything about it, but—then she and Pippy are looking at each other, and their faces are really closer than expected.

And Pippy, despite the poor lighting in the room, seems to be illuminated. Tara drinks in everything she sees—the soft look in Pippy's eyes, the way her hand skims the back of her neck, the heart-shaped face that's framed with dark, curly hair and seems to run through Tara's mind more often than it should.

When Pippy leans in to kiss her, Tara feels as if she's sinking. The lips against hers are gentle, fleeting, but nothing about the feeling in her stomach is quite so subtle. Her heart thrums so violently she feels it in her ears, her head so dizzy she can't do much except shakily trace the soft edge of Pippy's jaw with her fingertips and exhale a quiet surrender.

This feels like floating, to feel Pippy's hands cautiously settle on Tara's shoulders to pull her impossibly close, to feel Pippy's smile against hers as she kisses her a second, third, and fourth time. It feels exhilarating and overwhelming all at once, but Tara can't find it in herself to stop and figure which feeling is heavier than the other.

Tara three years ago never would have felt this happy, never would have felt so weightless and so secure in her life. Tara three years ago would have freaked out and maybe ran; she would've definitely felt terror sink in her stomach, not find it alight with butterflies.

But Tara three years ago is not this Tara. And this Tara only opens her eyes, brushes her thumb over Pippy's flushed cheek, and smiles hopelessly. This Tara leans in for another kiss, and another, until the rest of the world disappears and it's just the two of them.

(This Tara lets herself fall, and it's without a doubt the luckiest she's ever felt.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you if you read this bc i love all like 7 of you (this fandom is so small im sad). feel free to send me prompts for this series please, i can only think of so many AUs lol

**Author's Note:**

> meanwhile i'm still waiting for tmi and pippy to get back together...@ rosewood do me a solid and get on that bc ive waited 80 years already... but anyway thanks for reading and if you guys ever want to send prompts, messages, or tears u can find me at [djsugar](http://djsugar.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


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